How long has it been since I made a post to this journal? Looking at the date of my last one... a little over a year it seems. How strange. As it really doesn't feel like it's been all that long... and yet.
I'm not entirely sure why I'm making a post today. Why I feel the need after so long. I just have so many things I'm feeling... an I don't know how to express it other than with words. I thought that things were getting better, that I was getting better... but it feels like I'm stuck in the same damn loop. Things get better until they stop and slowly get worse. Eventually I hit rock bottom and things slowly start to get better again.
Things aren't so bad right now. Most days I'm still happy and strong. But they aren't as good as they were, when I felt at my strongest this year. Is this the beginnings of a downward spiral? Will I lose all control of the situation and ruin everything that I've worked so hard to earn as the world seem to crash around me again? Is it my own paranoia at my anxiety and failings that cause the whole thing to get worse in the first place?
Some days I feel like I'm completely alone in the world. No one could possibly understand the thoughts running through my head. There's no one to tell, to help me through it. I'm afraid to share, I can't stand the looks of judgement. You'd think I'd be over this by now, that some level of acceptance would have managed to seep it's way into my mind but no. It's always back to the same damn thing. Life hurts and I just can't share that pain.
I'm terrified of death. I don't want to die or be dead. I don't. I love living and having life and doing things and I DON'T WANT TO DIE.
Sometimes all I can think about is death. Just ending all the doubt and pain. It's a like a little voice in the back of my head when I feel my weakest, when I'm over come with fear and loneliness whispering how easy it would be to end it all.
I know what it feel like to have a blade slice through my flesh. Slow or fast, deep or shallow. It hurts so bad, while these burst of happiness like little fireworks go off in the back of my mind. I know what cold metal tastes like, a dull somewhat unpleasant flavor, the spark of terror that jolts through your body as you think how easy it would be just to pull the trigger. The way your mouth starts to get dry and your throat constricts as you take too many pills, trying to close up and stop you. How you know that the medicine hasn't even begun to work it's way through but nausea hit and once more your heart pounds with fear. You don't want to die.
It's so much easier to give in to the fear. To let that little voice rule my life and tell me that I'm worthless and really should spare everyone around me the drama that is the continuation of my bitter fucking existence. It's like being happy and content are constantly a struggle. If I'm not working hard to be happy that I won't be. And I'm just so tired of constantly having to tell myself to be happy, to be content. Having to struggle against the urge to hurt myself, to kill myself.